Emilia adjusted the load of clothes against her as she opened the bedchamber door. Most of it was dry enough to pack, but the toes of the stockings were still a bit wet. Perhaps she could dry them by pressing them with a hot iron before...

"Aha!"

Emilia started, dropping everything.

Prudence Crewe fell back on the bed, laughing uproariously. "I couldn't resist. I heard you coming down the hall and thought it would be so funny if—"

"If I wrinkled all your clothes?" Emilia droned, picking up her load. "Wouldn't expect you to care about such a thing," she muttered.

"What?"

Emilia put her load on the bed, then her hands on her hips, not saying what she had nor what she wished to. "I would expect you and your sister find it very amusin'," she said instead in her most formidable tone, possibly to rival Mrs. Douglass or even Cook, "but I don't find it at all funny so—"

"You would if you'd seen it," Prudence Crewe insisted. "You jumped at least a foot high!"

"I'm sure I didn't, but enough about that." Obviously the girl could exaggerate apace with Charity. She pulled Prudence to stand, tutting, "What have ye done to this poor dress?" She noted the brown morning dress that Prudence had been wearing long past morning, locked up in the attics and painting the day away. The apron hadn't protected it well.

"Oh! Does it show? I thought it might not, being dark ocher and the dress being... not that far from it. It was just a little splash here and there. Nothing to be concerned about. I can just use this dress when I paint."

"Like most of your dresses," Emilia muttered, turning Miss Prudence around. It was mostly the cuffs that had been assaulted. "Let me get this off and we'll see if it concerns me." Maybe it was nothing to be concerned about for Prudence, but it was an ongoing concern for Emilia. Most of the dresses Miss Crewe owned had been dotted with enough little splashes, here and there, that they weren't fit for company. It was always down to Emilia to save them somehow.

As Miss Prudence stepped out of the latest, Emilia could see the ocher went halfway up one sleeve. "I suppose I could shorten the sleeves on this one," Emilia sighed.

"Yes. That would do nicely," Prudence said absently. "I suppose you heard the whole hullabaloo."

Emilia contained her ire. She really did miss Charity. She might have been almost as careless about dresses as her sister at times, but at least she was much more apologetic about it. "I haven't. I've been too busy getting your mother's trunks ready for Cambridgeshire before I finish yours."

"So you haven't heard at all? Mother isn't going now."

Emilia gaped at her, nearly dropping her nightclothes. "What? But I just finished—"

"I was quite annoyed, too. I thought this would mean I wouldn't have to go either, but that doesn't seem to be how things are working out," Prudence sighed. "You can step out. I can finish the rest if you want to—"

"If I want to pick all your clothes up off the floor later? Thanks all the same, but I'll stay."

Prudence huffed. "I meant if you wanted to do Mama's trunks over. And I don't toss all my things on the floor."

"Just most of them," Emilia mumbled to herself, turning Prudence around and starting on her stays.

"What?"

"Nothing." Emilia cleared her throat. "So your mother isn't going to the house party? I just finished packin' her best gowns and slippers."

"I suppose you shall have to exchange those for boots and aprons," Prudence said, shrugging off her shift. "She's going to Cheshire. Grandfather has fallen ill. She received a letter from Uncle Victor. And you know how things are with him and Grandfather, so things must be dire... or do you?"

"I do," Emilia droned. She knew all about Mr. Abbot and his son, the vicar, who she had yet to meet. Miss Prudence's last visit to Sweet Briar had been before her time as lady's maid, though she wrote to her uncle and grandfather often enough. Between dressing Lady Crewe and Miss Prudence, she knew that Mr. Abbot was a very prideful man, particularly proud of having been successful enough to buy land and houses at the level to be considered a landed gentleman.

His chief complaint seemed to be his only son, who had entered the clergy and had no interest in carrying on his legacy except as it might benefit the needy or serve to educate the village. Prudence threw in her lot with the son and his high ideals while Lady Crewe thought her younger brother very impractical for not marrying and carrying on her father's new legacy as he ought. As for Emilia, her opinion was that she knew far too much about two men she had not yet met and was not likely to meet often.

"Uncle Victor wrote to say he's ill," Prudence went on as Emilia helped her with her nightgown, "then Grandpapa wrote soon after to deny the charge and say he is in perfect health without any prompting and that, if Uncle Victor sent a letter, it was exaggerated. Mama saw right through that charade, so now she is bound for Cheshire to tell everyone what to do. I certainly tried to offer my assistance, but Mama's insisting she has it well in hand. I suppose she does. Controlling people is her favorite hobby and she doesn't like to share. So we are still bound for this ridiculous party."

"So we'll be at this ridiculous party," if Prudence had said it, she might as well repeat it, "without a chaperon for you?"

"Yes. Aunt Muriel is busy and Mama is off to Cheshire. Highly improper. That is precisely what I tried to tell Mama," Prudence said with the kind of passion she usually reserved for reciting her essays and pamphlets. "I might very well bring disgrace upon the family and would do better to stay home."

Emilia hid a roll of her eyes as she sat Prudence down at her dressing table. "I'd have liked to see her response to that." If there was a Crewe daughter likely to court salacious scandal, it certainly wasn't Prudence Crewe.

"She said she wasn't fooled and knows I'm trying to get out of it," Prudence sniffed. "She insists this friend of Aunt Muriel's will watch over us, so we're still to go. But Aunt Muriel is lending her carriage."

"Well, that's not so bad. Lord Dartmore does stop a bit for sites of historical—"

"No, it's even worse. Ernie is escorting us."

"Oh." Emilia supposed she should be glad they had an escort, but she'd traveled with Ernest Crewe before and, though he was a little better than Lord Dartmore and his droning about historic sites, he also rarely stopped talking — about how much time was left, about how tedious the journey was or, even worse, his attempts at humor. Luckily, he was a lot like Miss Charity in that he tended to sleep most of the rides away.

"Ernie even eagerly volunteered for it which only made Papa and I more suspicious." Pru turned in her chair. "I personally think he has some reason of his own and—"

"Could ye sit still so I can braid your hair?"

"Oh, there's no need for that," Prudence scoffed. "We're only traveling tomorrow. Who cares what I look like?"

I do! It's my job! Emilia rather wanted to scream it, but she didn't. She should be happier now, having one charge instead of two. And perhaps she should also be grateful that the charge she had demanded so little of her. Too little! Still, she was determined to choose her battles more wisely. Maybe she could convince Prudence to at least allow her to do her hair in paper curls the night before, at some inn or another, before they arrived at the house party, if she didn't press her now.

Prudence took her wrapper from the bed. "Don't bother with me. I'll just go to the library, choose some books for the carriage." She turned back at the door. "Are my paints already—"

"Yes, I've got a second trunk ready for them," Emilia sighed.

"Ah, good. At least I'll get some work in so this party won't be a complete waste of time." Prudence said. "And I'll have some books to add." She shuddered. "Single ladies and eligible gentlemen all trapped together for two weeks. Can you imagine anything more tedious?"

"I can think of many things." Such as every task that made up her day. Emilia had to laugh. "I'd rather have your problems."

"Oh, Emilia. I could say the same," Prudence said before taking herself off.

"No, you couldn't," Emilia said after she'd gone, taking the dress from the bed. She supposed she was glad Prudence had chosen to ruin this one rather than something prettier. The sleeves were indeed done for, so she started on the business of cutting them off, hemming them up, and sewing lace along the edges. It wasn't her first time. Prudence barely owned any long-sleeved dresses now that had not escaped her paint. Perhaps she could be convinced to limit herself to wearing only certain dresses when she took it in her head to splatter them.

It wasn't that she disapproved of her mistress painting. She rather respected that the girl was industrious and she knew the feeling, that oddly satisfying feeling when something was done right. Even after her days sewing for the house, she sometimes felt moved to work on her own little things. Nothing so grand as a painting, just taking old dresses she'd been given and making them over.

She'd only once made a dress from start to finish, a lovely green gown that Miss Charity — or Lady Douglass — swore was her absolute favorite frock. She'd enjoyed it so much that Emilia had been determined to start on a custom gown for Miss Prudence. She knew just what would suit her, but that girl had only to see her perusing fabrics to say...

"I have gowns enough," Prudence laughed. "No need to trouble yourself."

And Emilia really shouldn't complain, but sometimes she gritted her teeth until she felt they might grind away to nothing.

Emilia sighed and scolded herself. She should be grateful. Prudence was a good reader and a patient teacher. So what if she didn't give a toss how she presented herself to the world? So what if, without Miss Charity, Emilia was dressed better than her charge half the time? With Miss Prudence's help, Emilia's reading and writing had gone from passable enough for a maid to better than some ladies, she'd imagine. Lady Crewe even thought Emilia's penmanship grand enough to help with correspondence when she was overwhelmed with one of her headaches. She'd certainly been given opportunities to improve herself here that she'd never have found elsewhere.

Still... to what end? She wouldn't have much opportunity to distinguish herself if she kept dressing a girl who barely tolerated her efforts...

Yet she quite liked her work when she had a chance to do it - adjusting a gown so it draped perfectly, seeing someone look their best and knowing it was all down to her efforts, poring over the fashion pages in Le Belle Assemblee when Lady Crewe had finished with it and thinking of all the little things she'd change if she could reach through the pages...

As for this dress, by the time Emilia was finished, it looked nice enough when held against her in front of the mirror. Emilia, being of a similar size, rather thought she should try it on herself, just to be sure the sleeves were even. But if she were going to waste such time, she'd rather do it on the light green gown with the Swiss dot overlay. She'd helped choose it herself, the cut and the specifics. She'd had quite the battle with Miss Prudence over the neckline, which Prudence thought should be unflatteringly high and very out of fashion. She'd finally won the day when she told Miss Prudence she could wear a chemisette if she was so concerned.

She pulled that gown from Miss Prudence's trunks now, ignoring the pile on the bed, holding it up, thinking of how nice it would look with a darker green ribbon threaded through her hair, how lovely the skirts would look in motion if Prudence danced... something she did as rarely as possible.

She swished the skirts now, swaying back and forth under the fading candlelight, humming a little—

"Am I interrupting?"

Emilia jumped, dropping the gown before hastily picking it up. "Not at all." She placed it on the bed, smoothing it as she glanced sideways at Mrs. Douglass, glad she hadn't given in to the temptation and tried it on herself. "Just bein' certain these gowns are ready for travel."

Mrs. Douglass sighed. "I suppose ye've heard about Lady Crewe."

"Yes, I've heard. I will do her trunks over. Are they both leavin' tomorrow?"

"That seems to be the plan. I know it doesn't leave you much time to prepare, but—"

"No, it's not much more trouble. Just a matter of switchin' a few things around." Emilia smiled and got back to packing. "Truly, the trunks are the least of my worries."

"Still, I can help." Mrs. Douglass peered closely at her. "Though I can imagine what makes up most of your worries."

"He'll be fine," Emilia said, endeavoring to hold her smile, "I hope."

"Believe it or not, I do understand. Though I suppose my worries are in another direction." She sighed. "It's been hard for me bein' away from my son and not seeing my granddaughter as much as I'd like. And of course, I miss Charity, too. Then again, as they are two of the people I love best in the world, I'm happy they are taking care of each other."

"I don't remember you being so happy at first," Emilia couldn't help but tease.

"Insolent girl." Mrs. Douglass swatted her with a shawl before folding it neatly and handing it to Emilia. "Well, it took me some time, but I finally realized that children should eventually be allowed to grow up. In my defense, I'm not the only mother to struggle with the idea."

"Not at all." Emilia remembered quite clearly that Lady Crewe had tried to insist Miss Charity spend the first year of her marriage at Crewe House for her own comfort, something Emilia suspected was more about Lady Crewe's comfort, since Charity was quite content in her new home.

"They need freedom to make their own decisions. I see that now," Mrs. Douglass was saying. "Children shouldn't be beholden to their parents forever."

Emilia turned to find Mrs. Douglass was staring at her again.

But the older woman didn't say a word, only handed Emilia a rolled pair of stockings. "I have nearly resigned myself to joining them someday, even tolerating those busybodies in Balvenie, if it means seein' Harmony grow up. But I still have a bit of work in me and I'd like to see this house in order first. Perhaps I might even see Miss Prudence settled before I retire."

Emilia couldn't resist laughing then. "You might be older than The Duchess herself by the time you retire, if that's what you're waiting for."

"Insolence again." Mrs. Douglass chuckled. "I've a good mind not to recommend you as my successor."

Emilia dropped her smile. "Me?"

"Of course you." Mrs. Douglass shrugged. "Who else would it be?"

Emilia couldn't accept such a lark in earnest. She laughed. "Sally, for one, or Cook. They're older. They've been here longer. I've only been here—"

"Nearly six years. Long enough for me to see your potential. Lady Crewe and I have already discussed it. You have experience in all aspects, so you could certainly oversee a staff. You're organized, hard-working, you know how to stand your ground with enough diplomacy not to upset the order of things."

Perhaps this wasn't a lark... "Well, if that's what you're lookin' for, Cook and Sally are much tougher old birds than me. And I wouldn't want to upset them."

"I sincerely doubt it will. Sally would never want to live on the estate and away from her very large family. As for Cook, if you think she'd allow someone else in her kitchen while she still draws breath..."

Emilia let out a nervous laugh. "No, I see that. I just... It's my father. I can't—"

"Yes, I anticipated that. Arrangements could be made for your father. The southeast cottage has been vacant for years. It has no good land, just a garden. No one is likely to rent it. It might be vacant for years more."

"Could it?" Wasn't that wonderful news? She'd never been to this southeast cottage, but...

"I'd been offered it myself, but I prefer living in the house to oversee things," Mrs. Douglass said, "Still, you wouldn't be tied to doin' things my way once you're running this house. And you're young. Perhaps you'd like space of your own for your father or, someday, a family."

"I've never even thought about... that's such a lot to... I... Can I possibly..."

"Now, don't make yourself uneasy. There's no need to decide now." Mrs. Douglass laughed slightly. "Goodness, you're about to tie Miss Prudence's stockings in knots."

"Am I?" Emilia dropped them. "It's just such a lot to think about."

"Perhaps you would prefer to stay with Miss Prudence when she marries." Mrs. Douglass rolled her eyes slightly. "If she marries."

Emilia wasn't so sure about that — not just whether Prudence married or not, but if she'd want to continue on with such a frustrating mistress.

"There's no need to decide the rest of your life this very second," Mrs. Douglass was saying. "Ye've got some time away to think upon it. Lord knows I wouldn't want to think I'd trapped ye here if you might want... somethin' else."

How could she want something else? Managing a fine house would be as high as she could go, but... the rest of your life.

Still, she nodded. "I shall consider everything."

"Good enough." Mrs. Douglass chirped. "I'll take care of Lady Crewe's trunks, if ye don't mind. I'm determined to discuss spring cleaning. Put everyone to good use while the family is away." She winked before moving to the door. "Looks like you're escapin' just in time."

Emilia forced a laugh as she left, then sank to the bed, wondering why her hands were shaking.

Housekeeper.

Perhaps it was the surprise of it all. She'd never expected she'd been thought of so highly by the Crewes, nor Mrs. Douglass. She should be happy, shouldn't she?

Maybe she was. Maybe this was happiness and it was simply unfamiliar to her. It wasn't as if her life was absolute misery. She'd often felt contentment on a pretty day or accomplished when she'd trimmed a hat in a becoming way, and she'd felt very satisfied when she'd put the final stitches on Charity's green gown.

But she'd never mistaken those things for happiness, more of a temporary reprieve from the usual disappointment.

Yes, she must be happy.

Emilia tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it.